Confusion
by Carthaki Empress
Summary: What would happen if Lord Alan actually read the letter Duke Gareth sent concerning the progress of his son, "Alan?" And then what if his pride wouldn't permit him to admit that he had so little control over his own children?


The twin's father found about their switch, and forced them to change back. Too humiliated at the prospect of Court finding out about his lack of control over his children's, he forces Thom to go along pretending he is Page Alan, while Alanna studies at the convent.

A/N: Hello! It's me! I know I shouldn't be starting a new story while I have two others in progress, but the idea popped into my head and wouldn't get out.

Lord Alan of Trebond leaned back into his study chair after completing a scholarly analysis of the unedited works of Hennaed, the famous Doi warrior/poet. His daughter was at the Mother of the Mountains Convent, and his son was at the palace in Corus, training to be a knight. He expected to receive word of Thom's progress within the next week or so. He was enjoying the peace he had from his children by throwing himself even further into his intellectual pursuits.

Truthfully, he was surprised that his children had gone their separate ways with such little fuss. Thom, he knew, had always been fascinated with his Gift, something that angered Alan to no end. Despising the very idea of knighthood, Thom hated to ever get his hands dirty. Alan was not unaware of his son's dreams to become a sorcerer, the youngest Master ever, and to walk with the gods. Despite his perverse obsession with the Gift, Thom was more like his father than Alan cared to admit.

Alanna, on the other hand, was a piece of work. Terrified of her Gift, she loved to fight. Alan blamed Coram for this. While Alan had succeeded in grinding all of her longing for knowledge of the gift, Coram had taught Alanna to fight as he taught Thom, and Alanna had become addicted, while Thom could not bear the fighting arts. Alanna hated being told what to do, and getting her to wear a dress was like getting a servant not to gossip. Put together, the twins had more spirit and determination than half of Tortall.

Why then, Alan wondered, was it so easy to get them to agree? Why would they both go against their natures so quietly? Especially two children as stubborn and determined to get their own way as those?

Alan leaned over and took an uncompleted translation of a Bazhir resource on the Voice of the Tribes. He reached for the original copy and began to translate the rest before he heard a knock on the door.

"Come in," he called. A messenger walked in, carrying two scrolls, one a document sent from Lord Rhenver, who was helping Alan in his research on the Doi, and one the awaited letter from the palace. Regretfully, Alan put away the research and unrolled the scroll sent from Duke Gareth.

_Lord Alan of Trebond,_

_I am pleased to tell you that your son, Alan the Younger, has been doing wonderfully in his classes. He has excelled in both academic and combat classes and has displayed full respect and obedience to our Code of Chivalry. _

Lord Alan could read no further. His son, Alan? Alan, his son. A son of his, named Alan. What son did he have named Alan? Did he even have a son named Alan? He cast his thoughts around, but they only landed upon his son Thom, and his daughter Alanna. Alan was his own name. He had not named a son Alan. Two Alans would be confusing. Therefore, his son was named Thom, and his daughter Alanna. Not quite the same, but still upholding the family name. Wait. His daughter Alanna, who loved to fight, and who had dreamed of knighthood. Lord Alan rose from his desk and rang for a servant.

"You called, milord?"

"Yes. Pack my bags. I'm taking a trip to the City of Gods to visit my son."

Thom of Trebond was thoroughly enjoying his sorcery classes in the convent. So far, his sister's plan had been successful, without a single glitch, though he was more than aware that he was getting the long end of the stick. Alanna was having to disguise herself and pretend to be someone she is not. While she was whacking people with sticks, he was mastering every spell he tried, not that you would have known this from talking to the Masters. Under the impression that Thom was an inept student, they disregarded his power as they believed him to have no proclivity toward the magical arts.

"Among the six black robe mages in the world, none of them are healers. This is because while black robe mages undoubtedly have vast amounts of power, they are tuned for grand projects and battles. Healers must have the ability to tweak a single artery, or fuse together small bone fragme—"

"Excuse me, Master Leon." That was Clerin, a small clerk with a large cowlick. "Lord Alan is here to speak with his son Thom."

Eyes widening abruptly, Thom shook himself out of the stupor that always came with the Magical Limitations and Boundaries class. _Why is father here? How did he know that I am here? Did Alanna let something slip? _He returned from his thoughts and panic to hear Master Leon finishing his conversation with the clerk,

"—since Thom apparently got his lack of manners from his father, who would deign to interrupt my class rather than wait until the end, I would be more than happy to get him out of sight. Thom, you're father is waiting in your rooms."

Thom swallowed and nodded, before picking up his belongings and leaving the room. He shot Clerin a disdainful glare as he passed. Head held high, he walked through the hall to his room which he shared with one other student, a stupid boy who was training to be a priest. He opened the door and entered, to see a livid Lord Alan pacing by his bed. Alan looked up and smiled thinly, a horrible smile with his lipped stretched over his teeth.

"Sit down, _Thom_."

Woohoo! Tell me what you think! Will get more interesting, I promise. This was an introductory, setting the stage chapter.


End file.
